


Dance to This

by ackermansheart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, aruhisu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermansheart/pseuds/ackermansheart
Summary: He only smiled because he knew she needed him too. Her body expelled a sense of urgency; her eyes lit with that all too familiar glow. Lusting, wanting — doe eyed crystals beneath thick lashes.It was invitational.





	Dance to This

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is just a little diddy I wrote months and months ago for a dear friend on Tumblr who has somehow dragged me along to end up shipping this as well. Armin and Hisu have been lackin' some lovin' so if you ship Aruhisu and you like au's then this is a treat for you my dudes.

_Blonde_.

Blonde — _white_ — the smell of _her_.

The steady thrumming of the music was nothing juxtaposing the rhythm of his heart. It was heavy — _heavy_ ; the entirety of his being screaming for her.

Her fingers reached up and they slide along the skin of his neck until she’s grasping at him, ocean hues dancing before his own’s earths. He couldn’t figure out what she was thinking with the way she seemed to search him. But then, a smirk. And she was biting her lip and sliding it between too white teeth, leaving her mouth a little bit of a pop as she spun around in his arms.

Now he fully had her — _fully had her._

“Let’s go.” And she was dragging him with her fingertips laced but with backed notion of ferocity. Sometimes he forgets how strong she really is.

He doesn’t ask where she’s taking him; he doesn’t care so long as he has her. As long as she keeps touching him, and _touching him_ and pressing him against the halled wall. It was empty, murky, brick walls pressed against denim.

_Still too loud music._

But it wasn’t as loud as her eyes when she says “I get you when we get home.”

She’s biting her lip again in the way she knows drives him mad — and she kisses him. Quick, _hard_ — a flurry of hands and fumbled grasps when it was her turn pressed against the wall. Knees between her thighs; fingertips lacing a path to her throat.

Perhaps it was this fleeting moment, the whim to go out— or perhaps it was her. It was always _her_.

The way she made him come alive despite his reverie.

She turned him into an _animal_.

“Or you can have me right now.”

He surprises them both by grabbing her hands and by the tips of her fingers, drags her into the nearest bathroom, almost slamming the door closed with her body. Quick fingers made purchase on the lock before slipping back up to grasp at her waist.

“ _Here_ ,” he grunts, and he’s lifting her, both legs — _long legs_ — wrap around him, the little black skirt bunched at her chest now.

He cursed that skirt and _thanked_ _God_ at the same time.

It was so easy to coax her, lead her — _guide_ _her_ to that point where he, too, was practically trembling with wait.

“Just — _Armin_ —“ she practically keened, and his lips lifted into that half smile melting against her throat— mouth warm and wanting and _needing_ for her.

He only smiled because he knew she needed him too. Her body expelled a sense of urgency; her eyes lit with that all too familiar glow. Lusting, _wanting_ — doe eyed crystals beneath thick lashes.

_It was invitational._

She doesn’t fight it when he slides inside — she doesn’t fight it when her body hits the door in a repetitive rock. She only elicits a throaty moan, a strained sort of reserve for which he only got in these most intimate of moments. He wondered for a while how he lived so long without it.

Flushed faces fall against one another’s and she was still staring up at him, little by little as her breaths came in short pants that matched his own. He has to grasp at the silk of her skirt to keep from coming completely undone.

She was so soft, so gentle, and as crazy as she’d been tonight she was still _so_ _soft_. Even in passionate touches she was butterfly light, with feathered fingertips tracing his lips, and when all he can see is a flurry of blonde and damp skin, his heart patters furiously as he grips her just a little tighter— _just a little harder._

He surprised himself a lot of times, his timid demeanor slipping with each thrust. He was never able to hold back with her.

“ _A_ —“ But she doesn’t finish when his lips slide across her own. It was frantic, _quick_ — yet slow. It matched them now, the steady rhythm and humming of quickened pulses among the thrum of the music outside.

It was fingertips digging rivets into her hips— her lilted voice careening warm against his ear. It was the constant touch and scorch of every fervered kiss— her fingers tangling circles at the nape of his neck as if to beckon him that much closer.

“ _Fuck_ — ” He can practically taste it on her tongue; the way it rolls so simply off his own lips in response.

His name tumbling from wary lips becomes his undoing— her tightening grip and breathy moans in his ear— it’s all he could do to keep her held against the door.

Her face falls against his chest once she’s back on her feet, a firm hand still planted at her waist as if to keep her steady. “ _Historia_ ,” comes out in a throaty whisper. It’s light— _soft_ , and he’s afraid she almost doesn’t hear him.

Historia coughs in response and his finger coaxes her chin up. Her eyes have glazed and there’s a light haze that lingers. “ _Hey._ ”

“We should get going.” Her brows furrow when his hands run down her arms and waist, smoothing her skirt back over her hips. He tries not to focus on the way her curls stick to her cheeks now. “I don’t know how long we’ve been gone.”

Historia smirks, and it’s a coying remark. “Who’s counting the time?” She shrugs, then, in her place leaning against the door. Her fingers move from crossed arms to straightening the buttons at the top of his shirt with a sly smile.

“I told you you’d have fun tonight if you’d just _trust_ _me_.” It’s a light gesture, and he licks his lips.

“I did— _have fun_ , that is.” He stumbles for a moment, getting caught up in his own tongue. He feels himself turning back to normal when his cheeks flush crimson.

“Me too,” she winks, and grabs hold of his hand. “Come on— let's get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really didn't know what to title this because it didn't originally have one, so I just went on my Spotify and shuffled songs until I found one that sounded at least half way decent lol.  
> Anyway, thx if you've made it this far congrats and keep on reading! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ackermansheart


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